Cold Edges
by ncfan
Summary: Even in Vinyamar the cold finds them.


I own nothing.

* * *

It is ever-cold in her body, ever-cold in her mind. The summer sun shines upon her and she still feels a lick of cold in her bones and over her heart, like frost on a windowpane, refusing to recede no matter how long the sun shines upon it.

Perhaps that reflects in the way Vanilírë chose her son's name. Her husband chose for him a Sindarin name, which is only just as he himself is a Sinda, but Vanilírë is a Noldo of Aman. She is a Calaquendë, and will choose a Quenya name for her little son. Aurion she calls him, Son of the Sunlight, for Vása who shone a light down upon everlasting Darkness and showed Nolofinwë's host a way out of the Ice and onto the warmer lands of Endóre.

But even Vanilírë, sentimental as she is, is willing to admit that perhaps the mother-name she gave her child at his birth, without even a flash of foresight to guide her, was perhaps just a bit too much. So her child is referred to by both parents by his Sindarin father-name, and Erestor he is called.

She and Eriest met when the host of Nolofinwë first met the Sindar of Mithrim, and when Turukáno withdrew from that region back to Nevrast, and began construction of his great city Vinyamar, he went there with her; they were already wed then. There have been differences between them, mostly centered around their difficulty understanding each other from time to time, thanks to the disparities between Sindarin and Quenya and the different thinking styles that come from thinking in those languages. The cultural differences haven't helped either, though that might be to Vanilírë's advantage—she'd been much involved in the study of cultures in Valinor. Eriest seemed much bemused when Vanilírë first started quizzing him on the intricacies of Sindarin food preparations and pronoun usage, but he has since grown used to it.

They have grown rooted to the land in Vinyamar, bound there not just by loyalty to Turukáno, but by the child who was born to them within the walls of the city. Erestor is bright and curious, remarkably alert for a boy of a single year, much absorbed in the doings of the people around him as his mother is (_Or was_). Two young lords in Turukáno's service, both of them frankly penniless (not that Vanilírë and her family are in much better shape), live in the house next to theirs, and they both seem quite content to spend their spare time playing with their tiny neighbor.

Sometimes, Erestor will tug on his mother's sleeve, trying to get her to come out into the sun-drenched street and play with him, but all Vanilírë can do is sit on the stoop, smile weakly at him and say _"No, sweetheart; I'm sorry, your Mama is tired."_

She's always tired.

It is ever-cold in her body, and she is always tired. That's how it's been since she brought her little one into the world. She is cold even under the sun, even with her son in her arms, and she is tired every hour of the day and night.

Ektelion plucks Erestor up from the street and into his arms, holding him high up in the air; Erestor makes a show of not liking this at all, frowning darkly, before he dissolves into helpless giggles and whose giggles pitch upwards into shrieks of laughter. Vanilírë tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear and sighs, leaning against the doorframe. She draws her shawl more closely about her shoulders, and when her little one comes running back to her, she draws him onto her lap, and breathes deeply the bright smell of sunlight in his hair.

Her little Aurion is made of sunlight, but she finds no warmth even with him wrapped in her arms.

-0-0-0-

The Noldorin obsession with building and understanding every aspect of every last thing that crosses their path did and still does leave Eriest decidedly mystified. Here he lives in Vinyamar, one of many Sindar who have followed Turukáno to the coast. It is a city of cold stone, made by carving granite out of the mountainsides, wounding the earth, still being built on this day. The Sindar have lived in dwellings of wood and in caves since time immemorial; Eriest is not that old, and this is the only way he can ever recall having lived before the Noldor crossed the Ice.

The Sindarin Elves of Mithrim and Doriath aspire to live in such a way that affects the earth they live on as little as possible; at most, they fell trees, till the land in order to grow crops and raise livestock to sustain themselves. The Noldor, on the other hand, feel the need to leave their mark on the land, frankly to the point of obsession, at least as far as Eriest is concerned. They erect great cities of stone, great monuments, leave the earth scarred and pock-marked. They want to pull everything apart, want to understand the inner workings of every living and non-living thing upon Ennor, and see no need for moderation.

He sees that in his wife. Vanilírë's sheer curiosity about the Elves around her, about the inner workings of their minds and cultures is endearing, though it means that, since she pursued work as a scholar in Valinor, she has few practical skills. Eriest sees that in his son as well. Erestor is so young, so young and so small, but he is so curious to know what's going on in the minds of those around him. He's always asking, "Papa, what are you thinking?"

Among these Noldor, these enterprising Elves, Eriest has heard a story.

When the first Queen of the Noldor, Míriel Serindë (though he will hear her surname referred to as 'Þerindë' as well by older Elves), gave birth to her child, Curufinwë Fëanáro, his birth exhausted her. This in itself is not so unusual, Eriest pointed out the first time he heard the story; nissi often find the birthing of children exhausting.

'_That's not all,' _the Noldorin storyteller had told him, with a glare on his face that said quite clearly, _Be quiet._ He went on, after looking at his audience to be sure that he still held fast their attention.

Míriel Serindë gave birth to her son, whom she named Fëanáro, Spirit of Fire, and was exhausted. Her exhaustion was not simply one of the flesh; in the womb, her son's fëa had drawn the energy of her own into his without meaning too. Fëanáro's fire was too great for his mother, and she drifted into exhaustion not long after his birth. Life was too much of a burden for her, and she fell into a deep slumber in the gardens of Lórien, and died.

Eriest had thought this a sorrowful story, but had not seen then how it would ever have anything to do with him. He had not been married to Vanilírë then, though they were aware of each other and it would be just another month longer before they would become betrothed. Now, however, Eriest sees all too clearly the way such a story touches his life.

From the day they met, Eriest was aware of the fact that Vanilírë never felt properly warm. It was one of the first things she'd ever said to him, as she drew her tatty purple shawl closer about her shoulders and glared up at the gray, snow-laden skies. She despised the cold and the winters snows, but that was not so unusual. Many of the survivors of the Grinding Ice Eriest knows are distinctly un-fond of winter and winter snows; Ektelion and Laurefindil, their next-door neighbors, refuse to leave their house when it's snowing until they've found every coat and cloak in their possession and donned them. Vanilírë lost her parents and her sisters to the Ice; they'd been forced to call upon the Lady Irissë to act in place of her mother at the wedding (It's become common practice, among those Noldor who lost their families on the Ice or whose families did not accompany them, to call upon their rulers to act in place of their parents when they wed).

That Vanilírë dislikes the winter cold does not surprise Eriest in the least, and he sees it as no place of his to judge or question her dislike. But that's just it; she's _always _cold. Even in the summer, in the blazing days and the balmy evenings, she always feels cold. She's always clutching her tatty purple shawl to her shoulders, always staring out past the little houses opposite theirs, at some point Eriest can't identify. Or she was.

Then, after Erestor was born, she started to get tired as well. She would have difficulty getting up in the mornings, and even more difficulty staying awake and alert. She had no energy during the day, and her slumber was frighteningly deep during the night. Erestor was no Fëanáro; he didn't suck his mother's spirit dry in the womb, and Eriest would often find his son sitting on his mother's lap, both of them asleep in the afternoons. But she was tired. And now…

She's slept for three days, and not woken. The healer says that it's not likely that she'll wake again; the healer says that Vanilírë will likely never wake, that she will die sleeping. Eriest finds himself going cold at the thought, and understanding suddenly what she can mean about never feeling warm. He feels as though he will never be warm again.

"Papa?"

"Papa?"

Eriest finds himself driven away from reveries, from staring down on his wife's face, by the feeling of a small hand tugging on the leg of his trousers. He looks down into the face of his son, wide-eyed and serious. Erestor possesses a curious mix of Sindarin and Noldorin features; his face is softer and more rounded than his mother's angular features, but his hair is dark and his eyes dark gray like hers as well. He has not his father's silver hair, nor his blue eyes, and while his features are softer than what is considered classically Noldorin, they are sharp enough that they can not be mistaken for Sindarin. But when Erestor looks up at him out of his slightly slanted gray eyes and furrows his brow at him, Eriest sees the reflection of his own face in that of his son. "Papa, will Mama wake up soon?"

Struggling to draw a smile to his face, Eriest pulls his son into his arms, and whisks him away from his parents' bedroom. "Perhaps, my son. For now, we should not bother her."

-0-0-0-

Mama is sleeping. That's what they told him, until they started saying something different: Mama won't wake up. Mama has gone back home to the Undying Lands. She has gone away, and won't be able to come back.

Erestor would like to count himself confused on this point. When did Mama stop sleeping and get back on a ship? No, wait. Papa said that Mama wouldn't wake up; he was crying when he said it, so Erestor definitely remembers that. If she never woke up, who put her on a ship and took her home? And hasn't everybody said that that the Noldor can't go back to the Undying Lands? How did she get to go back?

Erestor is confused, and shall remain confused for a long time. But Papa says not to fret, for they will see each other again some day. Erestor trusts Papa to tell him the truth, so he trusts in Papa now—Mama will come back eventually, and they'll see each other again. Maybe he'll be able to read and write by the time she comes back; maybe he'll be able to show her how far he's come.

Papa has to work during the day, so Erestor comes with him when he goes to the shop where he works. Though he also fights, and his sword rests over the fireplace, Papa is a weaver, and spends his days weaving scarves and rugs and making tapestries. He's making one right now, in fact, making a tapestry for the Prince of the city, who has commissioned a tapestry depicting the countryside of Nevrast. Papa uses many bright green and blue threads in his tapestry, and Erestor watches him work, fascinated.

Sometimes, though, their neighbors take care of him instead.

Ektelion and Laurefindil are two of Turukáno's lords. They can't be anything but poor, if they live next to Erestor and his father—Laurefindil says that they've yet to make their fortunes. They have work as well, being members of Turukáno's court, but not always, and on those days they look after Erestor while Papa is at work.

Laurefindil Erestor does not always get on with. Laurefindil likes to tease him, grinning and tugging on his hair and joking with him what seems like constantly. But Laurefindil knows what it's like when other people look at you funny because you don't look like a Noldo (his bright gold hair tells the tale), and it's a comfort. Ektelion, Erestor gets on better with. Ektelion plays the flute, and plays it often for Erestor when he's tired and needs a bit of music to help him sleep. Ektelion doesn't tease him like Laurefindil does and is always willing to play with him.

Right now, though, Erestor is tired, and sitting on Ektelion's lap, trying his best to sleep. He thinks of Papa at work, weaving his tapestry. He thinks of Mama, who's gone back to the Undying Lands, and hopes she'll be back soon. It's summer outside, but suddenly, Erestor feels cold, and huddles closer to Ektelion's chest, trying to capture an edge of warmth again.

* * *

Nolofinwë—Fingolfin  
Turukáno—Turgon  
Ektelion—Ecthelion  
Irissë—Aredhel  
Laurefindil—Glorfindel

Calaquendë—"Elf of the light"; those Elves who had lived in Aman, especially during the Years of the Trees (plural: Calaquendi)  
Vása—The Noldor's name for the Sun  
Endóre—Middle-Earth (Quenya)  
Ennor—Middle-Earth (Sindarin)  
Nissi—women (singular: nís)  
Fëa—spirit (plural: fëar)


End file.
